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Life Is All About Change Part 1 of the New Beginning cycle by Jennifer Campbell Methos, MacLeod and Joe don't belong to me, and I promise to return them to Panzer/Davis in top condition when I'm done with them. I make no money off this, unfortunately. No beta on this story, so please forgive any typos you might stumble across. =============================== Methos walked through Seacouver in a daze. People in three-piece suits hurried by him, bumping their leather briefcases into his legs, but he hardly noticed. All he really felt was the cold bite of his sword against his side, and that particular day, the weapon felt heavier than usual. MacLeod's fight with O'Rourke had been several months ago, but this was the first time Methos would see his friend since that fateful night. Mac had left the morning after without a word even to Joe or Amanda, returning to Seacouver and the dojo after almost a year in Paris. Joe had muttered something about having to relocate every time Mac had a moral crisis, and Amanda had left for places unknown, leaving Methos alone in Paris. Normally, he wouldn't have minded -- MacLeod attracted immortals like a magnet, which made him an unsafe man to hang around -- but the French city reverted to a dull, lifeless prison without his friends. So when his classes ended, Methos packed a small bag and jumped a plane for Seacouver, determined to track down Mac wherever he might be hiding. But he found a nasty surprise at the dojo. He intended to sneak in the back door, grab a beer from the fridge and camp out on MacLeod's couch until the immortal came home. But when he broke in, he was greeted by the sight of a spotless, empty loft. Alarmed, he took the lift down to the weight room and found it too had been gutted. For lack of a better idea, he left and headed toward Joe's bar, hoping it was still there. On foot, the hike was a substantial one, but he'd left his car in Paris. So it was that he walked down the streets of Seacouver without really seeing anything, just hoping that, after all he'd had done to keep Mac in one piece, the Highlander hadn't managed to lose his head. About an hour later, the neon-blue sign outside Joe's bar came into view, giving Methos a much-needed wash of relief. Although it was early, he knew Joe already would be there, probably working on Watcher business. He masked his tension beneath a passive expression and opened the door. Joe was sitting at the bar, hunched over a laptop computer. He looked up as the immortal entered and, as always, Methos was fascinated to watch an entire spectrum of emotion cross Joe's face in a heartbeat. The Watcher seemed finally to decide on annoyance, just as Methos expected he would. He snapped shut the laptop and glared at his unexpected visitor. "Well, well. Look what the cat dragged in," Joe said. "What are you doing here, Methos?" Methos smiled slightly and took a bar stool across from Joe. "Good to see you, too. So, where's MacLeod?" "After months without one word, all you have to say is 'Where's MacLeod'? There is such a thing as keeping in contact with your friends." Methos shrugged. "You knew where I was. It's not like I sold my house and vanished. That honor belongs to someone else, this time." Joe broke eye contact with an almost guilty look and pulled two glasses from under the bar. Methos relaxed. If Joe was offering him a drink, that meant he'd recovered from his initial surprise and was ready to be cooperative. Joe pulled out a bottle of scotch and poured. "When Mac got back, the first thing he did was sell the dojo. Too many memories of Richie, I guess. He bought an old, out-of-the-way church outside of town and has kept himself busy by renovating it into cabin." "Nice of him to tell me. It was quite a surprise to find the dojo empty." Methos lifted the glass and drained it. "It's not like you haven't pulled the same stunt, Adam," Joe said. "I know, but I'm different. Mac is not the type to pull a disappearing act. I am." Joe leaned forward to refill Methos' glass, and the immortal recognized the concern in the Watcher's eyes. Apparently pulling a Houdini wasn't Mac's only stunt recently. Whatever the Highlander had been up to, it had worried his Watcher more than a little. Methos thought that maybe his visit was long overdue. Joe leaned over and began rummaging under the bar. He reappeared a few moments later with a long object wrapped completely in cloth, but Methos didn't need him to uncover the object to know what it was. Mac's sword. The idiot Highlander was running around Seacouver with no protection. Methos softly ran his fingers over the wrapping and turned down one end of the cloth to reveal the hilt. He ran his fingers over the carved white dragon and looked up at Joe with an expression than needed no words. Joe lifted his arms in a gesture as if to say it wasn't his fault. "Hey, I tried to to talk him out of leaving it here, but he's one stubborn son of a bitch." "What happened, Joe? I thought he'd accepted Richie's death and moved on." "I think he is over Richie," Joe said, watching Methos' fingers explore the hilt. "But sometimes Mac reaches a point where he just wants out of the Game for a while. It's happened before." "Mac wants out, and you've been keeping his sword under the bar?" Joe sighed. "Look, Methos, you have to help him." Every time MacLeod suffered from a fit of self-loathing, it seemed that Methos was the one to slap him out of his foolishness. He briefly wondered how the Highlander had managed to survive this long. Methos re- covered the hilt and ran a hand through his hair. This would not be easy, but someone needed to make Mac see reason. "All right, Joe. I'll go see him," he said. "Thanks." "But I could use a ride." =============================== Methos was surprised to see how far out of town Mac's newest project was. After turning off a two-lane highway in desperate need of repairs, they followed a dirt road for a couple miles before finally ending up at the back of a large, ornate church with a lake stretching out behind it. "Mac certainly knows how to pick a good spot," Methos said admiringly. "Yeah, I'm think it was a popular retreat for the upper class about twenty years ago, before it fell out of use. But he didn't chose it for the scenery," Joe said. Methos nodded. "Holy ground. At least Mac hasn't lost all his good sense." Joe pulled up next to Mac's Thunderbird, and Methos felt the familiar presence of the Highlander -- and someone else. Mac had company, and it was someone with a long lifeline. He resisted his first instinct -- to tell Joe this wasn't such a good idea and get the hell out of there -- and firmly reminded himself that he was safe on holy ground. It was probably just Amanda, anyway. "Methos, what is it?" Joe asked, reading the sudden alarm in the other's expression. Methos quickly masked his concern the best way he knew how; he slipped into the guise of Adam Pierson and looked at Joe with his most innocent expression. It was a dirty trick, Methos knew, but Joe tended to trust Adam more because he'd known him long before he had met Methos the immortal. "Nothing's wrong. I, uh, just sensed MacLeod, and it caught me off guard. That's all." Joe seemed to buy the story, making Methos relax the lie a little. Joe was worried enough, and there was no point in making it worse. Methos tightened his grip on MacLeod's sword and stepped out of the car before his friend could ask anything else. "Thanks for the ride. I'll take it from here." Joe nodded. "Good luck." Methos walked toward the church as Joe pulled out and drove back down the mountain. He then dropped his guise, knowing MacLeod would pick up on the change and immediately go on guard. He approached the church, and the Highlander already was waiting in the open doorway. Methos stopped and absorbed the changes that the past few months had taken on his friend. He was regrowing his hair, which was barely brushing his shoulders, and he looked more at peace with himself than Methos thought he'd ever seen the other immortal. Methos almost envied him. "Methos," MacLeod said as way of greeting. "Mac. Nice place you have here." MacLeod's eyes glanced at the bundle in Methos' hand, and he scowled. "You've been to see Joe." "Well, how else was I going to find you?" Methos reached the doorway and let himself passed MacLeod into a large, rather rustic looking living room. He noticed a stack of paints and tools pushed into one corner -- the renovation obviously was not yet complete. There was no sign of the mystery immortal, though. Then Methos heard a toilet flush. The other would come out soon enough. He also noticed that his favorite couch from the loft was sitting in the center of the room, just waiting for him to stretch out his tired limbs and unwind. It looked so inviting, especially after tromping through the city all morning -- but he couldn't accept the invitation yet. Business came first. Mac shut the door and walked around Methos, meeting him face to face. "What are you doing here?" he asked. Methos wondered why that always was the first question out of everyone's mouth. One might think he never stopped by for social calls. "Oh, I just came by to visit for a few weeks. Maybe I'll even wait around to watch your Quickening. It should be spectacular, and, if I don't miss my mark, I won't have to wait too long." "I need to have a talk with Joe," Mac muttered as he sat in a living room chair. "And I'm not going to die." "So, is that the lucky contestant in there?" Methos nodded toward the bathroom. "Nice of you to let him relieve himself before the fight." "Theodore and I are friends. He would never take my head." Methos set Mac's sword on the couch and glared at MacLeod until the other immortal met his gaze. When he spoke, his tone was low and intense. "You are playing a very dangerous game, MacLeod. You can't afford to trust anyone." Methos heard the bathroom door click open and turned, expecting to see a new face, but the one that greeted him was all too familiar. He was an unusually big man and had a faint scar across his neck. Methos simply stared at him, trying to place him. If the hair were slightly longer and he grew a beard, he'd look just like -- Oh, gods preserve me. Theodore took one look at Mac's visitor, drew his sword and determinedly advanced on Methos. "I can't believe you're still alive, you bastard," Theodore spat, pointing his sword at Methos. "But I can fix that." Methos quickly backed away and put the couch between him and his assailant; MacLeod simultaneously jumped to his feet, ran to Theodore and grabbed his sword arm, yelling the whole time. "Theodore! Stop! This is holy ground!" Methos ducked under his attacker's swing and dashed for the door. His heart pounded so hard he was sure the other two immortals must be able to hear it. Then he noticed that they still were locked together, Mac using every ounce of his strength to wrest Theodore's sword away. Methos knew this might be his only chance to escape. "Maybe I'll come back some other time, MacLeod," he said, "when you don't have company." Mac gave one last yank at the sword, and it came loose into his hands. As Theodore yelled in frustration, Mac turned to the doorway only to find it empty. Methos was gone. =============================== Joe returned to the bar and found a young man sitting patiently at the front door, waiting for the return of the owner. Joe recognized him. His name was John Baker, and he'd been assigned to watch Theodore. But what was he doing in Seacouver? "Hey, John!" Joe said as he got out of his car. "How's it going?" The other man stood, walked to Joe and extended his hand for a shake, which Joe readily accepted. "I'm doing well. I just got into town yesterday and thought I'd stop by and say hi." "I'm glad you did," Joe said, guiding the younger man toward the bar. "So, is Theodore in town?" "Yeah, he's here visiting MacLeod," John said. When Joe's eyes widened in surprise, he added, "You didn't know? He's in town to help MacLeod finish his renovations. In fact, he's up at the church right now." Joe almost lost his balance and had to grab at John's arm to keep from falling. Theodore was at Mac's cabin? Methos must have known there was someone else there, and he didn't say anything. And he went in anyway? "Whoa, Joe. Are you OK?" John asked as Joe steadied himself. "I'm fine. So, were you up at the church today?" They reached the front door, and Joe unlocked it as he spoke, hoping he wasn't showing his nervousness. "Yeah, but I left a couple hours ago." Joe breathed a sigh of relief. If he had left that long ago, he hadn't see Joe and Methos. At least that was one worry off his mind. The two sat at the bar, and Joe began making small talk -- the weather, John's flight -- anything to avoid talking about immortals. He was afraid that John would notice something was wrong if they came back to the subject of Theodore and Mac. After a couple hours and a few beers, they were interrupted by the front door opening. Joe turned to see MacLeod walk in, and the immortal looked worried. He glanced back at John, who was staring at Mac in shock. This is not good, Joe thought. "Dawson, have you seen --" He stopped when he saw John. "Sorry, I didn't know you had company." "Um, no problem, Mac. I'd like you to meet John, a friend of mine. John, this is Duncan MacLeod." John shook his head in disgust and stood. "Thanks for the beers, Joe. I have to go." Without another word or look at MacLeod, he grabbed his coat and stormed out of the bar. Joe breathed out explosively. "Well, it's not like the Watchers don't know we're friends already, but I think John just lost some respect for me," he said. "So, Mac, what's up?" "Have you seen Methos?" "Not for several hours. What happened?" MacLeod sat down as Joe went to the bar and poured him drink. Mac related the story, leaving out nothing, and when he finished, he stood and began pacing the bar, his drink forgotten in one hand. It had been several hours since Methos had vanished and Mac had come to town, leaving Theodore at the church. MacLeod was torn between annoyance at the immortal's abrupt departure and worry that maybe he'd met a mishap -- one that carried a blade. "Mac, will you please sit down? Pacing won't bring him here any faster," Joe said. MacLeod rejoined Joe and finished his drink. He gripped the glass so hard that it cracked in his hand, and he set it on the bar with an guilty look. "Sorry, Joe." "For what? The glass or your impatience?" "I just wish I knew where he was." He paused. "I've never seen Theodore so furious." "Adam will show up when he's ready. Don't worry, Mac. He can take care of himself." As Joe finished talking, Mac felt the distinctive presence of Methos, and he thought he'd maybe never been so happy to sense another immortal. A moment later, old man walked in. He didn't miss a beat as he saw MacLeod, and his stride was slow and steady as he crossed to the bar. He was wearing that damned blank expression again, which, Mac knew, meant he had something to hide. "Took you long enough," Mac said. Methos sat next to MacLeod and shot him a withering look. "I'd like to see you walk down that mountain any faster. I think I made pretty good time." "What's with you and Theodore, Methos? You owe me an explanation." Methos met MacLeod's eyes, and Mac was sure he saw a trace of anger flicker across the hazel depths, but it vanished so quickly that Mac wondered if it had been his imagination. "I owe you nothing, MacLeod." "I saved your head from a nasty death on holy ground," Mac said. He saw Methos' resolve begin to crumble as the older immortal broke eye contact. He decided to push a little harder. "You can't tell me you don't know him. It didn't work with Cassandra, and it won't work now." He sensed the older man's surrender as he looked back at MacLeod and sighed. "His name isn't Theodore," Methos said. "It's Theodorus, and he was a Trojan." "And," Mac prompted. An evil smile crossed Methos' face, a relic of a life he'd long since left behind. If the Highlander wanted the truth, he'd more than oblige. =============================== Troy, 1176 B.C. Methos ran through the gates of Troy, his sword drawn and thirsty for Trojan blood. Any Trojans who looked into his eyes found themselves frozen in fear from the icy fire that burned there, and they knew this was a man who cared only for the kill. Methos hurried past the wooden horse that stood burning just inside the city walls, throwing sparks onto nearby houses and setting them on fire. With a small flicker of glee, he noted that the whole city soon would be consumed in flames. The Trojans deserved it for 10 years of sitting outside their stinking walls. Oh, but they had provided a glorious war. He saw a troop of Trojan soldiers rushing madly toward the gate to close it before more Greek soldiers could fight their way into the city. Time for a little fun, he thought as he hurried to intercept the troop. He killed two before the men even realized they were under attack. He rammed his sword into a third poor bastard up to the hilt and threw the body into the face of another soldier. The man yelped in surprise, giving Methos just enough time to slice his throat. More Greek and Trojan soldiers joined the fray. Methos was reveling in the warm blood spilling over his hands and armor, losing himself in the moment, when he felt a slow chill crawl up his back and invade every fiber of his body. An immortal was near. He scanned the square in search of the culprit, who must surely offer better sport than the regular Trojan fodder. He saw a man standing not far away, still as a statue and franticly looking through the chaotic mess of people. The man was huge -- at least 7 feet tall with powerfully built shoulders and arms. Still, a man that big would be slow on his feet and, therefore, easy pickings. Methos advanced on the giant, pushing Greek and Trojan soldiers alike out of his way. He stood face to face with the man and raised his sword to fighting stance. "I am Methos, and you are dead," he said. "I am Theodorus, and I have no fight with you," the man said in a deep voice. "I only wish to end this slaughter." Methos sneered. If this man hated battle, what was he doing here? The idiot was about to pay for his folly. "Stop the slaughter? That will be difficult without your head." He pressed into the attack, hoping to take Theodorus by surprise. The giant man warded off Methos' fury of blows, but his movements were clumsy and haulting. Methos wondered if he'd found a relatively young immortal who still couldn't handle a sword with a sense of style. That might mean the Quickening would be small, but he could live with it. He'd gone almost the whole war without a Quickening and hungered to feel the power surge through his body. Under Methos' attack, Theodorus slowly backed away, and when he reached the edge of the square, he backed into a house. Methos laughed in delight as he cornered the other immortal behind a table. There was only one door out of this building, and Methos controlled it. He relished the terror that grew in his opponent's eyes as Theodorus realized he was trapped. Methos disarmed Theodorus with one quick stroke of his sword and kicked the weapon out of reach. Now that the giant wasn't going anywhere, Methos' felt an urge to kill this man slowly and enjoy the experience. He sliced across the immortal's exposed neck with a light flick. Theodorus gasped and raised one hand to his wound, trying to stop the steady flow of blood. This is going to be fun. Through his battle haze, Methos began to feel uncomfortably hot. He looked toward the ceiling and was greeted by the sight of flames that were spreading quickly and beginning to erode the support beams that held the house together. If he judged right, the house would collapse any moment, leaving both immortals trapped to burn to death. Methos scowled at the inconvenience. He didn't have time to kill his opponent and absorb the Quickening before the fire finished its work. He'd have to settle for the next best thing. With a grim smile, Methos sliced his sword down Theodorus' hamstring, forcing the other immortal to his knees with a strangled cry of pain. That wouldn't heal for several minutes, giving Methos time to escape. He saluted and ran out of the house just as the roof creaked and snapped, throwing itself down completely on the unfortunate immortal within. Methos returned to the battle with a thirst for more death, but he re- entered the square and found the fight was over. Dead bodies littered the ground, and Greek soldiers were beginning to loot what houses were still standing. The promise of Trojan riches didn't appeal to the immortal, so Methos just stood and watched as the Trojan horse shot high flames and smoke into the sky, obliterating the rising sun. =============================== Present Day MacLeod stared at Methos with an expression akin to disbelief. "I can't believe you did that," he said. Methos shrugged. "You know who I was back then. Did you think Cassandra was the only immortal I tortured?" "I'd want your head, too, if I were Theodore." Methos sensed that although Mac talked as though he were angry, he was accepting what Methos had told him. This was going much better than the last time he had been forced to share his bloody past with the Highlander, but he still would have to give Mac some time to think about what he had said. He decided that now would be a good time for an exit. Methos finished his drink, pulled on his coat and grabbed the duffel bag he'd left at the bar that morning. "Well, as much as I enjoy reliving the good old days, I must be going. Thanks for the drink, Joe," he said, and Joe nodded. He looked at Mac, who was staring into his own drink in an effort to avoid looking at Methos. "See you around, Mac." MacLeod mumbled something too low for the older immortal to hear as Methos left the bar. His departure would give Mac time to talk with Joe, and that always seemed to make the Highlander feel better. It was completely dark as he walked toward downtown and the promise of a hotel. He'd even welcome a hard mattress. A good night's sleep, some food and maybe he would begin to feel a little more like himself again. Maybe coming to Seacouver wasn't such a good idea. Methos decided that his best course of action was to stop by Joe's early the next morning to say goodbye and catch a plane back to Paris. Or maybe somewhere a little warmer, like Hawaii. Methos always had liked Hawaii, where all those women in grass skirts insisted on draping lays around you neck. He was drawn from his thoughts by a faint shiver down his spine. Methos had the uncomfortable feeling of eyes watching him as he walked down the dimly lit streets, and the feeling grew stronger the longer he thought about it. After five thousand years, he'd learned to trust his instincts, so he slid into a dark alley and waited to see who was following him. The sensation came only seconds later. He drew his sword from under his coat, taking scant comfort from its cold hilt, and pulled back farther into the shadows. A giant figure came into view at the alley's mouth with sword drawn. Damn! He must have followed MacLeod to the bar. All that trouble to avoid Theodorus, and he had found Methos anyway. Well, no point in running from the inevitable. Methos stepped into view and faced what was to come. =============================== John Baker crept along a few dozen yards behind his assignment, keeping Theodore just barely in view. He really hadn't been that surprised when he'd left Joe's bar and had seen a familiar car across the street. It made sense that if MacLeod came here, Theodore would follow. So, John had found a good hiding spot and waited. A couple hours later, a man he recognized as Adam Pierson, an ex-Watcher, had entered the bar. He'd walked back out after a while and headed toward town on foot. Theodore had gotten out of his car to follow, so John had little choice but to tag along. John couldn't understand what an immortal would want with Pierson. The guy hadn't ever been out in the field, settling for the more boring, safe occupation of searching for the legendary Methos in books. John remembered meeting Pierson once at a formal dinner. He was nice enough, but he had been too reserved for John's liking. In the distance, John saw that Theodore had stopped and produced a sword from somewhere under his coat. "What the hell?" he muttered quietly as he moved closer. The immortal was standing at the entrance to an alley and was looking hard into its depths. "Methos!" he boomed. "Methos, come out." "Talk a little louder, and you'll attract an audience," said a smooth voice from the alley. John recognized the British accent as belonging to Pierson. "Is that what you really want, Theodorus?" Methos? John could hardly believe his ears. Adam Pierson was Methos? But he used to be a Watcher! That wasn't not possible. Theodore raised his sword and moved forward. John risked moving closer, just peeking into the alley, and was greeted by the sight of Pierson with a sword in his hands. He held it like an experienced fighter. John pulled a small video camera from his coat and started taping. Then the opponents clashed swords, and John found himself torn on who to root for. He'd watched Theodore for three years and wanted him to live, but he also wasn't willing to lose the greatest discovery of the century. But whether Pierson lived or not, John was going to tell everyone. =============================== Methos struggled to hold his own against the powerful onslaught of blows from Theodorus. The giant had obviously picked up a few tricks over the past few centuries, and he had learned to put his strength to good use. He was still slow, though, and Methos knew that might be his only advantage -- one he had to exploit soon. Ducking under a blow aimed for his neck, Methos slipped around the bigger man, intending to strike the fatal blow from behind. Theodorus turned just enough to throw off the angle of Methos' swing, and it slashed across the back of his shoulder. Theodorus howled in pain and took a blind swipe at his opponent, which Methos easily avoided. Good, Methos thought. His opponent was getting angry, and angry fighters made mistakes. He decided to press his advantage and sliced across Theodorus' belly while the other immortal still was recovering from his last failed swing. Blood began to seep from the gash and Theodorus dropped his sword with a painful groan. Methos didn't hesitate. He swung hard and fast at Theodorus' neck and watched as the head rolled away and the body collapsed onto the pavement. He felt a brief moment of regret and wondered what MacLeod would say next time they met. Then, the Quickening hit him, and all thoughts were driven from his head. =============================== John watched the duel through the lens of his camera, and then the Quickening came. It was bigger than any the Watcher had ever seen, shooting lightning high into the night sky, almost making the alley as bright as day. John suspected that most immortals would scream in pain with that much power surging through their bodies, but Pierson just moaned and moved smoothly with each strike. The man must have the largest capacity of any immortal who ever lived. Then it was over. Pierson dropped to his knees, his sword sliding unnoticed from his fingers. John flipped the stop button on his camera, stuffed it in a coat pocket and left Pierson to his recovery. That lighting storm was sure to attract notice, and John didn't want police to peg him as a witness for some mysterious electrical outage. He returned to the parking lot outside Joe's bar and climbed into his car. The tape had to go into the right hands immediately. He couldn't give it to Joe, that was certain. Pierson was his good friend, and the Watcher probably knew who he was and protected his identity. That would make sense considering MacLeod's corruptive influence and the revolting display earlier that evening. So, where to take it? After a few minutes more thought, John started his car and drove straight to the airport. Three hours later, he was on a flight to Denver -- and Watcher headquarters for North America. =============================== Methos returned to Joe's bar the next afternoon. He'd slept all morning, giving up on any plan to catch an early flight to Paris. After all, his reason for leaving was now a headless corpse, so he was in no hurry. He might even hang around MacLeod's for a few days, assuming Mac forgave him for killing a friend. Not like he had a choice, and it was no worse than what the Highlander had done to Byron. Methos entered the bar to find Joe and Mac huddled around Joe's laptop, twin expressions of worry on their faces. MacLeod hadn't even looked up when Methos entered, which meant he must really be upset. Time to break the ice a little, Methos thought. "Don't tell me," he said, "you have finally discovered the Playboy site." Joe looked up at him. "Methos, thank god. Are you OK?" Now he really knew something was wrong. "Why would I not be OK, Joe?" "You've got to look at this," Mac said, beckoning for him to join them at the laptop. Methos complied, and Joe and Mac moved away so he could get a better look. It was an e-mail message from Watcher headquarters to every Watcher in the world. Methos figured it must be important if the organization was broadcasting it across every continent. He started to read. URGENT. To all watchers: Methos read the message again, and again. He mentally kicked himself for being so careless. Of course there would have been a Watcher, and Theodorus had called him by his true name. He looked up at Joe and MacLeod in alarm. "Don't say anything yet," Joe said. "There's more." Joe punched a key, and a new message appeared on the screen, this one addressed directly to Joe. Joe Dawson, Methos closed his eyes and tried to regain control of himself. Having his own identity revealed was not that big a deal -- he'd been a known immortal at various times in his past, and it always had been a matter of time before he was discovered again. But now he had put Joe in danger, and he worried for his friend's future with the Watchers. "What will you do?" he asked softly. Joe shrugged. "I take the next flight to Denver, and tomorrow morning, I deny that I ever knew the truth." He paused and looked hard at Methos. "What will you do?" Methos sat down and collected his thoughts. Joe had just asked the million-dollar question, and although Methos knew the necessary course of action, he didn't look forward to it. "Now that the Watchers know, it's only a matter of a few days before word begins to spread among the immortals. When they discover that Methos the myth actually exists, they'll be fighting each other to take my head. So, it appears that despite the Watchers' order that I be kept in sight at all times, I'm going to have to disappear. Adam Pierson is about to have a fatal accident, I think, and then I go someplace where no one can find me." He looked Joe in the eye to gauge his reaction. He knew Joe understood what that meant -- no contact, perhaps for several years, or longer. If Methos was to vanish without a trace, it had to be complete. Joe nodded in resignation, but MacLeod did not accept as easily. "What do you mean disappear? You mean just vanish off the face of the earth? It can't be serious enough for that." Time for a lesson in the hazards of immortality. Methos switched into lecture mode and turned to the Highlander. "Why do you think I've lived so long, MacLeod? It's because I know that the world changes, and I accept it. People change, places change, situations change. If you don't change with them, you lose your head." "How can you be so damn calm about it?" Mac asked. Methos narrowed his eyes and forced Mac to meet his gaze. His voice was tinged with sadness. "Do you think this doesn't hurt? Do you think I want to leave? I know that I might never see Joe again. Or you or Amanda, for that matter. But I put you in danger if I stay. I'm doing this for my own head, yes, but I'm also doing it for all of you." He paused. "MacLeod, you made me realize that there are things that matter more than my own life. You and Joe rank at the top of my list, and I won't risk either of you to satisfy what I want." Satisfied that he had convinced MacLeod, Methos turned his attention back to Joe, who had grabbed Methos' bag and held it out to the immortal. Methos took it and pulled Joe into a hug. "Take care of yourself," Joe said. "You, too." Methos pulled away and extended his hand to MacLeod for a shake, deciding the other immortal probably would throw him across the room if he tried to hug him. But instead of taking his hand, Mac reached out and pulled Methos to him in an embrace strong enough to hurt Methos' ribs. "Be careful, my friend," Mac said, his voice rough with emotion. Methos tried hard to control his own emotions and failed miserably. He couldn't keep the tremor out of his voice any longer. "Take care of your head. I do hope to see you again, MacLeod." Methos was the first to back out of the hug. He smiled in what he hoped was a reassuring manner and, without a backward glance, left the bar. He knew he would be followed to where ever he decided to go, but it shouldn't be too hard to lose a Watcher. With any luck, the immortal community would overcome its initial shock at learning of his existence and stop hunting for him within a few years. And then he could return here, to this place, to his friends. The sky clouded over and began to weep as Methos walked away. It was fit. The end Continue to The Hitchhiker |